


Leather and Tape

by fangedangel (clockworkqueen)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Boxer Bucky Barnes, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Past and Present, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-World War II Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, References to Addiction, Sexual Content, Some angst, Stucky Big Bang 2016
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-24
Updated: 2016-08-24
Packaged: 2018-08-10 19:27:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7858111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clockworkqueen/pseuds/fangedangel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve Rogers is eleven years old when Bucky Barnes, Brooklyn's own boxing prodigy saves him from two bullies in an alley. He fights like something out of the pictures, but for some reason, decides to take Steve under his wing. He doesn't realize until much later, but Steve has loved his best friend quietly, forever. </p><p>Or, the story of two Brooklyn boys in love, then and now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Leather and Tape

“Ma, I’ll be fine,” Steve insists, pulling on his jacket. “I’ve missed two days already, I’ll be fine.”

Sarah Rogers runs a gentle hand through her sons hair, before pressing a kiss to his brow. “Since when do you care so much about your schoolwork? I remember having to sit you down to get you to complete any of your work. You make a friend, honey?”

Steve replies hesitantly. “I think so.”

Sarah laughs. “That’s what’s got you wanting to go back to school so badly?”

He nods. “I don’t want him to forget about me.”

“Oh Stevie.” Sarah wraps him up in a hug, and Steve relaxes into it. Home is the only place he can hug his Ma and not get called a momma’s boy, so Steve enjoys it when he can. “No one could ever forget you,” she continues.

Steve doesn’t bother arguing with her. He’s old enough to know exactly what he is. Forgettable. No one sees him unless they’re beating him up or laughing at him.

Except for Bucky.

They were taking his lunch money. Again. And usually, after a few hits, Steve gave in, handed them his money. But that day was different, because Steve decided that he wasn’t going to do that anymore. Not without putting up a fight.

He also hadn’t eaten in twenty four hours.

There were two boys today, and that was Steve’s first mistake.

Unsurprisingly, they were bigger _and_ taller than him. But Steve held both of his fists up in front of his face.

The boy on the left snorts, while the one on the right full out laughs. “Aw, don’t bother. Just give us your lunch money.”

The other one shows his teeth. One’s missing from the front, and Steve wouldn’t mind taking another one out so the bully can have a matching set. “You don’t wanna get hurt, do you?”

“I’ll take my chances.”

Steve should’ve just given them the money.

By the time Steve feels his vision going weird, the guys have long since taken his money. But every time Steve hits the ground, he struggles to his feet again.

“You won’t stay down, will you?” The boys are laughing above him, but this time, Steve doesn’t think he can get up again. He wants to, but every part of his body aches.

He doesn’t want to admit defeat, but Steve’s light headed and...his instincts are telling him that getting punched again might not be the best course of action. “Please,” he says weakly, too quiet to be heard.

Suddenly, a fourth voice speaks.

“Lay off of him.” The voice is unfamiliar, and Steve moves his head to look at the other person. The boy’s brown hair is falling into his eyes, and while his hands are calmly by his sides, the boy doesn’t look happy.

The bullies mistake the boys relaxed stance for weakness, and Steve gets another kick to the ribs. Steve gasps, hugging his knees closer to his chest.

The boy steps closer. “I said, get off of him.”

“Who’s gonna make me?” The one without a tooth steps forward, eyes narrowed, arms crossed.

“Me,” the boy says.

Something tells Steve to discretely push himself out of the line of fire and closer to the cans lining the wall. It hurts like hell, moving his body like that, but it turns out to have been the right decision when the boy dodges one of the bullies punches so quickly that he falls hard to the ground, where Steve had just lain.

The boy turns to the other assailant, and Steve keeps an eye on the fallen one. He wishes he could watch closer, but for some reason, Steve can barely keep his eyes open. He watches long enough to see the boy do a combo on the bully that looks like something straight out of one of the pictures.

Steve watches the boy punch and jab and duck just long enough to make sure he doesn’t get hurt. He’d feel worse than he already does if something happened to the boy that could possibly be his guardian angel. The bullies are laid out at the boy's feet, and only then, does Steve let his eyes slip shut.

“Come on kid,” the boy shakes his shoulder roughly. It seems like time has passed. “Don’t die on me.”

Steve blinks his eyes open, the familiar signs of bruising making themselves known on his face. The boy’s eyes are bright blue and filled with worry, and Steve owes him. To not die on him.

“I’m fine,” Steve hears himself say, but his mouth feels strange to move.

The boy snorts and looks up and down the alley once more before hoisting Steve up. He’s settled on his feet and Steve prays that he doesn’t go unconcious. It wouldn’t be the first time.

Nothing seems to escape the notice of his rescuer, who frowns before putting Steve’s arm over his shoulder. “You can’t go back to school, kid. I’m taking you home.

“I don’t even know your name!” Steve blurts, and regrets it instantly.

The boy raises an eyebrow. “James Barnes. But my friends call me Bucky - come to think of it, I don’t know yours either,” Bucky points out.

Steve holds his free hand out for Bucky to shake. It’s an awkward position, half of Steve’s body is draped over Bucky’s. But Bucky takes Steve’s hand in his, shaking it firmly before releasing it with a squeeze.

“Steve. Steven Rogers. Why Bucky?” Steve asks as they make their way out of the alley. It’s midday, thankfully, which keeps the number of people out on the street to a minimum. Still, Steve can see the pity in the eyes of everyone walking by, seeing a beaten kid dripping blood onto the coat of a good samaritan.

That had to be what this was. Bucky was just a really a kind person. Because Steve can’t remember what it feels like to have a friend. The feeling is completely foreign.

But James wants Steve to call him _Bucky_.

Bucky tells him about his middle name - Buchanan. Bucky for short. Steve listens as well as he can, his feet leading them toward his apartment. Bucky keeps a steady flow of conversation going. While mostly one sided, Steve learns that Bucky is a sixth grader, a year older than him.

He thinks the books they read in Literature are ‘a load of bull’ and likes science and mathematics the best. Steve tells him he’s lousy at both.

Bucky looks over at him. “When’s your next math test?”

The information seems hard to reach in his brain for some reason - if he’s got a concussion his Ma’ is going to be pissed - but eventually Steve pulls it out. “This Friday actually.”

“You free during lunch on Thursday? I could take a look.” Bucky grins and Steve laughs.

“Sure you aren’t just trying to keep me from getting into fights I’m gonna lose?” They’re finally outside of Steve’s apartment, and he tugs on the sleeve of Bucky’s jacket so he doesn’t go any further.

Bucky shoves him playfully, but the arm he has around Steve prevents him from going too far. “Of course, punk.”

“You don’t think I could win someday?” Steve holds both his fists up, and Bucky snorts. “Jerk,” Steve mutters, and Bucky laughs.

“Not if you’re throwing punches like those. Didn’t your pa ever teach ya how to hold your fists?” Bucky asks curiously.

Steve shrugs. “He died. In the war. If it weren’t for the photographs my Ma’ keeps in the album I wouldn’t even know his face.”

He pats Steve on the back. “I’m sorry, Steve. But don’t worry. Mine hasn’t taught me much else.”

Bucky taking those two guys down in the alley earlier - the scene replays in Steve’s mind. “Your dad taught you all that?”

Bucky shakes his head, before ducking it to hide his smile. Steve gets the feeling that the other boy is laughing at him, but he can’t quite figure out why.

“Sure you don’t need help patching up?” Bucky gestures to Steve’s face, conveniently changing the subject.

“I can handle it. Not my first loss, remember? My Ma’s a nurse if anything looks too bad.”

Bucky hops off of Steve’s stoop. “Giver her my best.”

“Course.”

Bucky begins walking away, when Steve calls out for him again. “Wait! I didn’t thank you proper.” This time, Steve is the one to hold out a hand to shake, and Bucky takes it.

“Thank you, Bucky.”

He grins. “Sure kid. See you at school?”

“See ya!” Steve calls after him. He watches the other boy’s back until he disappears from view. It’s only then does Steve push open the door to his apartment building.

He eyes the stairs warily - he lives on the 4th floor - and a part of him regrets not taking Bucky’s help. It’s too late now. Steve sighs and makes his way to his floor. Slowly.

After finally making it to his apartment. Steve took a seat at the dining room table. He knew he had to get cleaned up - heat up some water, bathe and then bandage up before his Ma got home. But he’d been _so_ tired…

Steve had woken up to his mother’s worried face, and that’s how he ended up staying home under her care for two days.

He had bruised ribs, a sprained wrist. Steve’s face was a mess. He was lucky that his Ma’ was even allowing him to leave the house.

She probably felt bad for him.

One more kiss on the forehead, and Sarah finally lets him go. The walk to school is even more hellish than usual, a twinge in his side that wasn’t present before. It would probably bother a normal person more, but Steve simply wrapped his ribs with bandages his mother “borrowed” from the hospital, and went on his way.

In the grand scheme of things, busted up ribs barely factored into the numerous other ailments he’d been blessed with - as his Ma’ liked to say. “God gave you those problems because he knew you could handle it, Steve,” she’d say. “The good lord wouldn't have given them to a lesser man.”

His Ma’ liked for Steve to think she was always right, but as he entered his school alone, head down, Steve wondered if a man that was so great, would be so alone.

*

“Rogers? Rogers? Are you paying attention?”

Steve is jolted out of his daydream by his literature teacher. “Sorry miss,” he apologizes before mumbling out the answer from his homework, hoping it’s correct. He ignores the snickers of his classmates, and looks down at his notebook.

He’d been playing how lunch was going to go in his head for most of the class period - a part of him hoped Bucky wouldn’t show after all. But in Steve’s notebook is a drawing of a boy, fists raised, with beautiful eyes.

The bell rings and Steve’s classmates rush to the door, eager for lunch and recess. He usually takes his time because it’s not like he has anywhere to go, or anyone to sit with. Steve picks up the pace today, shoving his books into his well worn schoolbag, before following the crowd out the door.

Steve chooses a seat outside, pulling out his math notebook. He likes the breeze, and takes a bite of an apple - his Ma’ had money to pack him lunch this week, thankfully.

He people watches while he waits for Bucky. This is one of the few places Steve can - here or the park, without getting bothered. The bullies leave him alone on school grounds, wouldn't chance it. The nuns that run the school don’t tolerate that, and Steve’s thankful.

After a while, Steve pulls out his sketchbook, to hopefully quell the last bits of nervousness. Usually, he doesn’t like to draw in it during school, in case anything happens to it. The paper wasn’t cheap, and it was something his Ma’ splurged on last Christmas. He’d been so used to drawing on scratch paper or old medical documents from the hospital, that at first he seldom liked to use it.

Now, he mostly uses it for bigger drawings, but when he gets an urge to doodle, he usually does them all on one page, to save paper. Steve’s adding a tiny sketch of Bucky to an overcrowded page when the boy approaches him. He doesn’t notice, his head “too far in the clouds” as his teachers liked to write in his report cards.

“You’re an artist,” Bucky says, making Steve jump clear out of his seat. “I should’ve known. You’re really good.”

“Look, Bucky I get it, you’re some sort of ninja. But please, can you make more noise next time? And I’m just messin’ around. But thanks,” Steve says, resisting the urge to shove his sketchbook back in his bag.

Bucky snorts. “Looks pretty damn good to me. Can I see?”

“I guess,” Steve mumbles, before passing the book over. Bucky looks at his art, page by page. No one except his Ma’ has ever really seen his work before. Surprisingly, it doesn’t feel as scary as he’d expected.

“Oh and Stevie? I’m no ninja. Just the number one boxer in my division in all of Brooklyn,” Bucky says nonchalantly.

“Really?” Steve says absently, more focused on Bucky’s hands on his work than anything else. “Wait, what? Seriously?”

He nods before coming to sit beside Steve on his side of the bench. Bucky pulls out his own lunch, and nibbles at a sandwich before speaking again. It’s ham and cheese, Steve’s favorite too.

“Yeah,” Bucky shrugs, like it’s no big deal. “I’ve been fighting other kids in Brooklyn since I was little. And I got good.”

Steve laughs. “Obviously. I thought you were some sort of hero from the pictures or something.” 

Bucky smiles, and as stupid as it sounds, it is almost like the clouds in the sky disappear. “Those guys had no technique, I barely broke a sweat. And no offense, but Stevie? You don’t have any technique either. No wonder you're getting your ass kicked.” 

He can’t keep the smile off his face either, even as he hushes Bucky. “Better not let the nuns catch you swearing. ‘Sides, i thought you were helping me with my math, not making fun of me.”

Bucky shoves him lightly, before grabbing Steve’s math notebook. “I’m not making fun of you punk. But let’s make a deal. I’ll help you with your math, and you will let me show you how to throw a proper punch.” A slow smile spreads across his face. “I’ll let you practice on me?”

“Fine,” Steve concedes, though there wasn’t a chance in hell he wouldn’t. “Now come on, Buck. I’m gonna fail.”

Bucky takes one look at Steve’s notebook, and laughs. “No wonder you’re failing,” he says. “You aren’t even taking proper notes, Steve.”

This time, Steve shoves Bucky, put pays close attention when Bucky starts rewriting out problems for them to go over together. He’s wished more than once that math would come to him the way his art does. But as Bucky slowly takes the mystery out of the numbers, Steve starts to understand.

All too soon, the bell signaling the end of break sounds. Steve closes up his books with a sigh. He thinks that he’ll be able to pass the exam tomorrow but a part of him wishes for more time with Bucky. And who could blame him?

“What do you think, pal?” Bucky asks as they walk back toward the school together.

“I still hate math,” Steve says shortly, which makes Bucky laugh. “But there’s a slim chance I might pass this,” he admits. “Thank you.”

Bucky grins. “No problem, kid. Go home and review that stuff. You’ll ace the test tomorrow, and I’ll be on your porch after school.”

“Wait you still want to hang out with me?” Steve asks skeptically. “You don’t have to, I - I don’t want to be a charity case. 

Bucky tilts his head to the side in confusion, and Steve can picture many of Bucky’s opponents underestimating him. He doesn’t exactly look intimidating, unless he’s trying to. Like he did in the alley.

“I want to be your friend, Stevie. That’s what we are now, I think.” Bucky smiles. “Why wouldn’t I want to be your friend?”

Shrugging, Steve struggles to find an answer. “I don’t have much going for me, and I’ve never really had a friend before. I didn’t think there was any reason you’d want to be.”

He hoped there was.

Bucky frowns. “I can’t tell you why other people didn’t want to be your friend, Steve. But I can tell you that I definitely want to be.”

Steve’s not sure anything could wipe the smile off his face.

*

Steve hurries home after school to study, just like Bucky suggests. His Ma’ watches him, knowingly, though Steve isn’t quite sure what there is to know. He fields questions about Bucky during dinner and tries not to sound like a little girl with a crush.

He does equations over and over again until it starts to get dark. Then, Steve does them once over to be sure he knows them.

Only then does Steve pull out his sketchbook. He begins doodling, but on second thought, flips to a fresh page. 

He tries to draw something, anything other than Bucky. But when Steve gets ready to close his sketchbook for the night, the face on the page is unmistakably Bucky’s.

*

Steve feels more confident about his test the next day than he probably ever has before. He sits down, takes out a pencil and scratch paper, and attacks the test. He leaves the classroom with a smile on his face, and when Bucky joins him for lunch, he holds his hand up for Steve to slap.

“You look like a winner,” Bucky says.

Steve only smiles brighter.

Bucky and Steve walk home together after school, and with more people on the streets, Steve sees just how many people Bucky knows. And it’s a lot. Most of the people on the street greet him, several by name. Standing beside Bucky, people notice Steve. They nod at him, greet them both. It’s surreal. 

“Is your Ma’ gonna get mad if we throw a few punches in the house?” Bucky asks, as they walk up the stairs to Steve’s place.

"She’s working an overnight shift,” Steve says.

“I won’t break anything,” Bucky promises, as Steve unlocks the door.

Steve snorts. “Don’t worry. We don’t have much of anything to break.”

The apartment was of modest size, it’s not like Steve and his Ma’ needed (or could afford) much else. A tiny kitchen with a table and three chairs that had been wedged in since there had been a third. The living room is comfy enough, a well loved sofa and chair.

Bucky takes a seat on the sofa, and Steve sits beside him, though he’s eager to learn whatever Bucky wants to teach him.  

“You look eager,” Bucky says with a laugh.

“Course I am, jerk.” Steve grins. “I wanna learn from a pro.”

“Show me how you hold your fists.”

Steve stands up, in front of Bucky, fists held in front of his face.

“Not quite kid.” Bucky stands up too, and they’re close enough that Bucky’s breath disturbs the hair on Steve’s head as he chuckles. “Thumb goes on the outside, silly. I’m surprised you haven’t broken your thumb.”

Steve’s face flushes, caught. Bucky holds his hand gently in his, pulling his thumb to the outside of his fist.

“Now hold them up,” Bucky says, and looks at Steve with approval. “Nice. Now...punch me. Hard as you can.”

Steve hesitates. “I...I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Trust me, Stevie. You won’t. Besides, didn’t seem like you had any problems fighting those guys in the alley,” Bucky points out.

“I was defending myself,” Steve retorts. “And the only people that should be getting hit are people who are doing something wrong.” 

Bucky pauses. “You got that right, kid. Now hit me. Hard.”

This time, Steve doesn’t hesitate. He shuts his eyes a bit, but punches hard and fast. To his surprise, Steve doesn’t hit anything, and almost falls forward with the force of his punch, only stopped by Bucky’s body.

“Whoa,” Bucky says, still holding him by the shoulders. “Why’d you close your eyes?”

“Where’d you go?” Steve breathes.

“I ducked,” he answers, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. “I wanted to see your form when you think you’re actually hitting someone. It ain’t great.”

Ignoring the jibe, Steve realizes he’s seen this move before. “Hey. Buck, you did that the other day. In the alley.”

Nodding, Bucky fixes up Steve’s body himself, moving his arms and hands and shoulders. “Yep. Works great on brutes like them. They fall hard. I wouldn’t recommend using it on smaller guys. You all usually get up pretty quick. 

“We’ve got to,” Steve says, and punches the air when Bucky directs him to. Eventually, Bucky starts doing some shadow boxing himself, and watching him, is an experience. His movements; equally graceful and strong, are beautiful.

Steve isn’t sure that he’ll ever be a good enough artist to capture it on the page, but he knows that he’s damn well going to give it his best shot.

“Alright, nice job kid,” Bucky says eventually, letting Steve finally take a break. He slouches down on the sofa, tired. “How’s your lungs?” Bucky asks.

Steve shoots up off of the sofa. “How’d you know about my asthma?”

Bucky shrugs. “I notice things. You carry an inhaler. There’s one on the coffee table over there. You almost dying in that alley wasn’t just because of your busted up ribs. I heard the way you were breathing, Steve.” 

“I’ve got so many damn health problems, I sometimes forget,” Steve jokes, covering his face with his arm so Bucky doesn’t see his expression.

Bucky tugs on his leg playfully. “Yeah, well. You shouldn’t.”

“Alright, Buck,” Steve says lightly, before grabbing Bucky’s foot and dragging him off of the sofa, onto the floor.

“Ow,” Bucky complains. “Jerk.”

“Punk,” Steve replies fondly. “Don’t make me come down there. I don’t know if you’ve heard of em’, but this boxing champ? We’ll he taught me some sweet moves. I don’t wanna hurt you,” he teases.

Bucky narrows his eyes. “Try me.”

Steve jumps off the sofa with a yell.

*

“You going to the gym today?” Steve asks as he hops off of the brick next to the middle school where he waits for Bucky. They take classes in the same building now, but Bucky has a harem of friends to make conversation with before he begins his walk home with Steve.

It never bothered him before, and it definitely doesn’t now. Bucky always shows up. Unless he’s chasing after some girl. Then Steve lets him have his fun.

“Nah,” Bucky says, putting an arm around Steve. “You know I make the kids at the gym nervous. ‘Sides, I gotta make sure my dad didn’t drink himself to death today.” 

Steve flinches. Lately, Bucky has taken to discussing his father flippantly, his hatred for him becoming more apparent. He wasn’t a good man. Steve knew that after only meeting him a few times. But Steve didn't feel bad for him. He felt bad for Darlene Wilson, her sweetness and kindness constantly in danger of being burnt out by her husband.

“We should take Becca to the park, maybe?” Steve suggests. The third grader was too young to have much in common with either of them, but Steve and Becca liked each other well enough. Bucky loves his sister more than anything in the world.

Just like he’d thought, Steve’s suggestion puts a smile on Bucky’s face again. “Yeah, she’ll love that. You’ve always got the best ideas, Stevie.”

Steve grins, and begins telling Bucky about his seventh grade research project that’s due next week. Bucky cringes, he hates writing papers, always has. But he listens attentively anyway, offering Steve suggestions from when he struggled with his own project last year.

Then, Bucky begins telling Steve about kissing Mary Ellen Spencer in the dugout yesterday. Steve tries to keep the expression off of his face, but he’s sure that by now, Bucky has noticed it. He always gets this weird feeling in his chest when Bucky talks about girls. Maybe he’s jealous. Girls don’t even bother sparing him a glance.

But Bucky’s neighborhood fame, plus his looks made him one of the most popular people in school. Mary Ellen Spencer is in _high school_.

“High school girls are…” Bucky shakes his head. “Damn, Stevie. You kissed anyone yet?”

Steve sighs. There’s that feeling again. “No, Buck. I promise you’d be the first to know if I did.”

Bucky nudges him playfully, and Steve doesn’t even have to look at him to know there’s a shit eating grin on his face. “Alright Stevie. But you gotta get some practice in. Maybe Mary Ellen’s got a friend.”

He rolls his eyes. “Buck, you think they _all_ have a friend. But for some reason, they’re usually friendless. Wonder why that is?”

“Look Steve, any dame that can’t see what a catch you are has got somethin’ wrong with their eyes. We’ll find you a girl yet, Steve. If worse comes to worse you can marry Becca. Then we’ll be right brothers,” Bucky laughs.

Steve makes a face. “She’s like seven.”

“I mean like years and years from now, you goof,” Bucky rolls his eyes. “Besides, you’re already the brother I’ve never had.”

“Really?” Steve has never quite understood why Bucky became his friend, or what the other boy saw in him. But Steve’s best and only friend never strayed from him, and Steve knew that he never would either.

“Course, Steve. Come on, Becca’s probably waiting on the steps.”

Steve and Bucky retrieve Becca, who gives them both huge hugs, before they make their way to the park. Becca makes Steve and Bucky hold each one of her hands, and she walks in between them with a big smile on her face.

Steve keeps a watchful eye on Becca as she frolics around Central Park, while Bucky goes on about Mary Ellen. Her hair this, her eyes that.

“She wants to come watch me practice tomorrow, Stevie.” Bucky says passing Steve the bag of popcorn he bought for them to share. They’re sitting on their favorite bench, shaded enough to keep Steve’s fair skin out of the sun and bright enough so he could sketch. 

He was drawing Becca this time. In the picture, Becca is kneeling beside a small pond in the park, pointing at the fish down below. He’ll probably give it to Mrs. Barnes, she always gushes over Steve’s artwork.

“Hey, you’ve never invited me to a practice,” Steve points out, but there’s no heat behind it. “I know your coach thinks i’m too small to box - and he’s probably right. But I wouldn’t mind going to see you.”

Bucky snatches the popcorn back from him. “You come to all my matches, Steve. If I bring you to practice, I’d probably have to knock you out to get you to leave the gym.”

“You’d never.”

“You’re right,” Bucky says softly, before getting up. “Can we go chase Becca now? You can finish your picture before our show comes on the radio tonight.”

Steve gets up as well, placing his sketchbook in his bag. “Sure, Buck. But I still wanna go to the gym, Buck.”

“You’re still getting into fights. Punk.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Ain’t my fault.”

“We’ll see.” 

*

“Your’re coach is an asshole,” Steve complains to Bucky one day, on the steps of his apartment. There’s a breeze today, and sitting outside is better than sitting inside just hoping you’ll catch it.

“He is,” Bucky agrees. “And that’s why I’m such a good boxer.” He winks playfully and Steve rolls his eyes.

“You’re insufferable,” Steve grumbles.

“You love me,” Bucky replies, and continues when Steve doesn’t go for it. “Come on, Steve. Did you really think he was gonna train you?”

“I’m in high school now,” Steve complains. 

“So what? It’s not some magic that’ll make you grow six inches and put on 50 pounds,” Bucky teases. “Coach says you’re a liability.”

Steve kicks him in the leg, hard. 

Bucky nods like approves, and Steve rolls his eyes again. It seems like he’s always doing that when he’s with Bucky. 

“I’ve taught you a lot, haven’t I?” Bucky asks. “You haven’t looked quite so battered lately.”

“Jerk,” Steve replies. “But I guess you’re right.” He’s been holding his own a little more these days. His Ma looks a bit less worried when Steve leaves the house. But maybe because he’s usually with Bucky. 

“I think...I think that’s what I wanna do. Teach kids how to box. Like work at the gym and stuff,” Bucky admits 

Steve grins. “That’s amazing Bucky. You’re great with kids.”

Bucky smiles too, excitement filling his eyes. “You really think so?”

“Course, Buck.”

*

Bucky graduates high school, and Steve’s not too far behind when his Ma’ dies.

Over the past few years, she’d gotten weaker, but she’d never thought much of it. But one day, she collapses at work, and Sarah Rogers dies in hospital that pays her almost nothing. Cancer.

Steve runs all the way from school when he hears, but by then, she’s dead.

He doesn’t cry, no. Instead, Steve finds one of those alleys he’s so familiar with, and screams. He screams until his throat starts to hurt, and a guy ducks into the alley just in time. ‘Shut the fuck up’ the man says, hands curled into fists.

Steve throws the first punch.

Once he finally leaves the alley, his face is bruised, probably on both sides. His ribs hurt, not to mention the wound on his left side that’s bleeding profusely. Who’d known the guy’d have a knife?

Steve simply holds tight over the wound. He damn sure can’t afford any extra medical bills now. He makes it to the apartment without too many sideways looks, and collapses on his bed.  

Now, Steve cries. _It’s not fair._

Eventually, he wipes at his face enough to get up and fix up his side. His Ma’ would probably come back from the dead just to slap him across the face if he let himself bleed out.

He spends the rest of the day staring at a single spot on the wall, trying not to move too much.

Everything in the apartment reminds him of her. He misses her. Steve doesn’t want to imagine what it will be like in days or months or years. _Oh god_ , the funeral...

Unsurprisingly, as soon as he hears, Bucky’s knocking on his door. He’s brandishing a bottle of alcohol probably stolen from his dad. Steve knows Bucky’ll probably get slapped for that, but he also knows Bucky has put his father in his place for than once. 

Bucky eyes the bloody bandage on his side, but keeps quiet, for once. Steve accepts the bottle from him. After seeing the way Bucky’s father behaves, Steve had never had much of an interest in alcohol like the other people at his school.

Tonight though, he does. Steve sits gingerly in front of the sofa, not wanting to bleed on it by mistake. He unscrews the bottle and takes a quick sip, the burn almost making him choke. But he tries again, and this time it goes down smooth.

“Good stuff,” Steve comments, before passing the bottle over to Bucky. 

“Yeah,” Bucky replies. “I’m sorry, Steve,” he says later.

By then, the pain in his body and heart has started to fade away with the alcohol. “Me too,” he laughs. 

*

Steve tries to stop. He really does.

For his Ma’, for Bucky. But he does it anyway. Looking for fights. Guys messing with little girls because of the color of their skin, because of the cut of their dress. Stealing their purses.

He loses, almost always. But that’s not what matters. He likes the pain anyway. It’s the only thing that makes him feel alive these days. Besides Bucky.

But Bucky doesn't approve.

They’re having the same argument. Again.

“I’m helping people, Bucky. So what if I get a little roughed up?”

Bucky shakes his head. “You can’t keep starting fights outside the gym, Stevie. This isn’t how this works.”

Steve whips around to face him. He’s still angry, Bucky broke his most recent fight up too quickly. His blood is still singing in his veins, his heart is pounding. He wants to hit something, anything. “How what works? I’m not a fighter here, you won’t let me.” 

Bucky shakes his head. “No, but I am. And you know that’s not my call. Coach said…”

“That was years ago,” Steve snaps. “Who cares what Coach said. Everybody knows he’s just a replacement for your drunk dad.”

Bucky rears back like he’s been hit.

Steve gasps. “Shit, Buck I’m so sorry, I - ,” he falters. “I didn’t mean it.”

His voice shakes when he speaks. “Your Ma’s dead, Stevie. She’s dead and you’ve got a death wish. I understand it, but...I never thought you’d take it out on me.” Bucky turns toward the gym door, and it’s almost like Steve’s life flashes before his eyes.

Realistically, he knows Bucky isn’t going too far. He’ll probably be out looking for a place for them to live - he knows that Steve doesn’t like staying in the apartment alone, his Ma’s stuff in every nook and cranny. But Bucky turns his back, and Steve sees everything. 

Math homework, double dates. Punching things. Bags, bullies - each other. Rereading comic books until the pages started to turn. It’s like his life flashes before his eyes because Bucky has been Steve’s life. And he can’t imagine that he would’ve lived much of one without him. Steve loves him. Always has, and -

“Bucky wait,” Steve gasps. “What can i do to make you stay?”

Bucky stops, doesn’t walk any further, and Steve hurries to his side, heart in his throat. He grabs Bucky’s sleeve.

“Hey, Buck?” Steve asks quietly.

“Yeah?” They’re standing close now, by the door of the darkened gym. Steve is unable to read Bucky’s face, the light is so low, but he pulls his best friend closer anyway, hearing his intake of breath.

“If you’re gonna punch me,” Steve says lowly, “don’t put all your weight behind it.” Then, Steve reaches up, grabs Bucky’s face and pulls it to his.

Steve hasn’t kissed anyone since… god it’s been years. Some girl Bucky probably bribed in the 9th grade. It was quick and messy - Steve hadn’t known what to do with his hands. She was soft though, once Steve finally figured it out, but by then, it was over.

Bucky was the opposite of soft. One of Steve’s hands was gripping his tightly, but the other, the other was curled around Bucky’s back. He hadn’t known that this was it, that this was the itch under his skin, what he’d been craving.

It’s Bucky. Always has been.

He kisses a bit like he fights. Light as air, but with passion. Steve think that he could do this forever maybe. It’s only then that he realizes that Bucky’s kissing him back. _Oh_. Suddenly, the kiss is a thousand times better. There’s this cliche that when you kiss the person you belong with, there will be fireworks.

Steve always thought that was stupid. But there are explosions behind his eyes, and all Steve wants is to breathe him in.

Eventually, Bucky pulls away to take a breath, and a noise of protest escapes Steve’s lips. Bucky laughs, pressing a quick kiss to his lips.

“I’ve been waiting for you to do that for years,” Bucky says quietly, but he cracks a smile. “Shoulda known it just would’ve took getting angry at you, punk.”

Steve grins. “Jerk. But I...I didn’t know before just now. I mean, I knew but I didn’t know,” he babbles.

“Know what?” Bucky asks, but he’s got a grin on his face like he already knows the answer.

“I love you,” Steve blurts. There’s no reason to hide it now. It’s the truest thing Steve has ever known. “I love you, and...I think I have forever. I was just to stupid to notice.”

Bucky pulls Steve close, wrapping him in a hug. He sighs. “Better late than never, right?”

Neither of them mention the war brewing. Instead, they head home. They can’t hold hands, but they walk close together, still decent. Once they reach his apartment, Steve barrels past the living room, the memories of his Ma’ still haunting the place. He can’t imagine that they ever won’t.

Bucky’s got his hand in his now, and follows after Steve. They undress and curl together on Steve’s twin size bed, and fall asleep in one another's arms.

* 

With the war fast approaching, boxing doesn’t bring in as much money as it used to. Bucky’s taken to working down at the docks for extra cash, very much needed cash since the asshole got them an apartment without asking them first.

It was in a queer part of town, but still more than they could really afford, what with Steve’s medical bills and the fact that they only work he was doing was painting signs for a few neighborhood businesses.

He was far from doing his share of work, but Bucky was still sweet on him like they could afford it. He’d come home with taffy or asthma cigarettes or even flowers one time.

And it was nice. To feel loved. He’d never thought he’d be lucky enough to experience this kind of love. But here he is, preparing dinner for Bucky so when he comes home beat all he has to do is take a seat.

He’s not the best cook, but some days - between work and boxing - Steve thinks Bucky would eat cardboard. Bucky’s hiding it well, but Steve knows that the war is worrying him too. Some of their friends are already away at basic.  

But Steve still kisses Bucky hello and goodbye, thanking God that he at least has this. 

*

It’s an early morning when Bucky jostles him awake, the first light of the morning still covered in the darkness of the night.

“Stevie?” Bucky whispers, as not to scare him. “Wanna go for a drive? Coach gave me his keys.”

Truth be told, Steve doesn’t want to go anywhere. He doesn’t get enough time in Bucky’s arms as it is. But neither of their families have cars, and Bucky never asks much of him. In fact, knowing him, there’s probably something up his sleeve.

“It’s so early,” he grumbles, but Steve gets out of bed anyway.

“You can leave your pajamas on,” Bucky suggests, pulling a coat over his own. “Come on.”

It’s a bit of an odd request, but Steve pulls his coat over his pajamas to keep him warm. He follows Bucky down to to the car, and Bucky drives, mostly in silence. Steve feels Bucky’s eyes on him when Bucky think’s he’s not paying attention.  

A weird sense of dread creeps up on him. It’s like something's coming, or is about to happen - he hasn't felt this way since his Ma’ lay sick in a hospital bed. 

“Bucky,” Steve says shakily. “You - you gotta tell me what’s wrong.”

Bucky pulls over, parks and stops the car. Only then does Steve notice where they are. 

He turns to face Bucky. “Coney Island?”

Steve hasn’t been here in years. The park is closed now, but it doesn’t have to be illuminated for Steve to remember his Ma’ ducking him in the waters or holding onto Bucky’s sleeve as they chose their next ride.

Bucky shrugs. “I needed a place that we could sit. I thought we could watch the sunrise. If you want,” he adds quickly.

Steve grins. “That’s pretty damn romantic, Barnes.” After a cursory glance around the darkened empty parking lot, Steve leans over the console and presses a quick kiss to Bucky’s lips. There’s nobody for ages, but Steve still feels a rush.

Eventually, Bucky pulls away, smiling against his lips. “Only the best for my best guy,” he says, and Steve smiles. But something's off. 

“Bucky...I think I know you better than I know myself. I know something’s not right,” Steve whispers. Bucky’s smile falters, and for once, Steve wishes he was wrong.

Bucky clears his throat, staring straight ahead, looking through the glass on the front window like there’s something to see. “I uh, got my orders this morning. The 107th. Shipping out for England Monday morning.” 

It’s Friday. Or it was. It’s early Saturday morning now. Steve feels a million emotions at once. He’s angry, because he wants to be out there with Bucky, fighting in the infantry his father died with. He’s sad, he’s scared.

“So soon?”

Bucky nods. “There’s a lotta bad stuff happening overseas. They need men.”

“Kinda wish they didn’t need my man,” Steve jokes, just to make Bucky crack a smile. “I wish I was going with you.”

“I don’t,” Bucky says bluntly. “I want you as far away from this war as possible. We need one of those bunkers rich folks are installing.”

Steve feels that same stupid anger flaring up in him. He knows the anger is just trying to hide the pain, but some of it slips out anyway. “I’m not your wife, Bucky” Steve bites out. “I’m stronger than you think. 

“Hell yeah you are, Steve. You’re the strongest person I know.” Bucky shakes his head. “Braver then me.”

“Dammit, Bucky,” Steve swears. “I can’t lose you. I won’t. 

Bucky goes quiet before speaking. “I don't want you to have to, Stevie. 

Steve curls their fingers together, holding on tight. “Will you come back to me? You gotta promise, Buck.”

He hasn't thought about a life without Bucky in quite a while, and Steve’s not sure if it’s one he's capable of living.

Steve imagines living in their apartment. Bucky has always brought light wherever he goes and Steve knows the apartment would be dark and cold without him. Sleeping in their bed would be worse, because it would always be _their_ bed.

Steve doesn't want to live like that.

“I promise,” Bucky says, wiping at his eyes. “I love you, Steve.”

Bucky’s words are honest, but Steve knows that it’s not up to him. He knows there's nothing he can do.

“Bucky?” Steve whispers. “Take me home.” 

The second Bucky closes their apartment door behind them, Steve is pressing Bucky against the wall. Their lips find each other almost immediately, and the kiss is bruising. Steve can tell Bucky probably thinks this is going to be one of their battles where they play fight a bit, just messing around.

But when Bucky easily picks him up, spinning them around so Steve’s got his back against the door, Steve knows exactly what he wants.  

Steve breaks the kiss, already breathless. For once it’s not because of his asthma. “Bucky?" 

Like always, Bucky pulls away immediately, concerned. “You ok?” 

“Yeah,” Steve huffs out. “I want you.”

Still holding him tightly, Bucky goes for the spot behind Steve’s ear that always makes him squirm. Bucky loves it. “What do you want, Stevie? You gotta tell me.”

Bucky breathes this into his ear, and it’s unfair how far gone Steve already is just from a bit of kissing and manhandling. Bucky takes great pride in being the only person in the world that can pick him up and not get slugged.

It takes Steve a moment to reply, what with Bucky pressing kisses to the line of his throat, his claiming hands grabbing at his ass. “You,” he gasps. “All I’ve ever wanted is you. Just - just make me miss you a little less.”

“Alright, Stevie.” Bucky says, pressing a kiss to his lips that is just as sweet as their first. He walks them slowly through the living area into their bedroom. Bucky puts Steve down on the bed. Steve pulls him down on top of him, their foreheads banging together lightly.

Laughing until they’re breathless, Steve gets lost in the feeling of Bucky all around him. He leans up, kissing Bucky’s smiling lips. God, he’s going to miss this. He wraps a hand in Bucky’s hair - there’s just enough to hold onto, the cut from basic just starting to grow in.

Bucky’s moan is muffled by the collar of Steve’s shirt, where Bucky currently has his nose buried, kissing lightly and just breathing him in. Steve wraps his arms around Bucky’s lower back and holds him tightly.

They’re as close as they can be, but Steve wants to get closer somehow. “Bucky - I want, I need you in me,” he says. “Please, Buck." 

Like everything, Bucky takes the change in stride. “Alright baby,” he says, sticking his hand down under the mattress to grab the little canister of vaseline they save all their pennies for. They stopped using rubbers when they were together for the same reason - they were just too expensive. Steve wasn’t having sex with anybody else, and Bucky wore them with all his girls, so it was alright.

Steve goes to unbutton his shirt, but Bucky pulls his hands away gently. He likes doing stuff like this, and he carefully takes Steve out of his shirt, kissing every inch of skin he reveals, squeezing his chest while placing his lips on each groove of his stomach.

There’s nothing Steve can do but blush when Bucky takes his time on him like this. Steve thinks if he let him, Bucky would always take his time. If they had all the time in the world, Bucky would surely kiss him all over until he was ready to come, simply from his touch.

He blushes at the thought, but Steve knows they don’t have the time. It’s a Saturday morning, it really isn’t decent for them to be touching like this, laid up in bed while the sun’s out. 

Bucky gets his pants off too, kissing the sharp juts of his hipbones. He’s still fully clothed and lets Steve arch up against him. Bucky knows how he likes that.

Steve puts his hands over Bucky’s as he unbuttons his own shirt, and Bucky kisses Steve’s palm, grinning at his cheekiness. “I love you,” Bucky says.

“I know,” Steve replies, laughing when Bucky shoves his pants and boxers down in one go, climbing back atop the mattress to press Steve into the bed, pulling his arms above his head.

“Lotta sass out of you today punk,” Bucky comments, Steve squirm beneath him.

“Gotta get it in while I can,” Steve refutes, refusing to settle down in Bucky’s arms.

Bucky narrows his eyes, and Steve can tell he’s struggling not to smile. “Don’t make me tickle you.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“I would.”

“I dare you." 

Steve gasps as Bucky’s hands find his sides, making cry out with laughter. He doesn’t let up, even as Steve tries his best to kick him off.

Only once Bucky deems his lesson learned does he let up, allowing Steve a breather.

“Can you fuck me now?” Steve finally asks. 

Bucky reaches down, curling a hand around Steve’s cock. “You’re insufferable,” he whispers in Steve’s ear.

He shudders. “You love me,” he bites back.

“I do,” Bucky replies, brushing his lips against Steve’s.

Bucky jacks him off slowly, feeling Steve moan and shift against him, already consumed by pleasure. He knows Steve’s body better than anyone. Better than anyone ever will. 

Steve’s hard in Bucky’s hand, and Steve can feel him against his hip. _God_ , Steve wants him in his mouth. Maybe they’ll have time later, since they’re obviously wasting the day away in bed.

“Come on, Buck. I’m ready,” Steve pants, begs. This time, Bucky listens. 

He sits back on his knees a bit, and while Steve feels the loss of his body heat, he gets a view of Bucky’s body instead as he unscrews the container of slick. Bucky’s chest doesn’t flush like Steve’s does, but there’s color in his cheeks. Boxing had always done his body good, but basic training had made him even stronger. He’s gorgeous. 

Steve loves Bucky’s body, but his eyes are what really captivated him from the start. Now, those piercing eyes are tracing every curve and line of his body. Memorizing.

Bucky slips a finger inside him while he’s distracted, and Steve moans low in his throat.

“You like that baby?” Bucky asks, curling his finger, finding the spot that makes him cry out unfailingly. “Come on, Stevie,” he says. “You gotta let me know.”

“More,” Steve answers. “I can take more.”

Bucky gives him a look like he doesn’t quite believe it, but Steve spreads his legs wider, wrapping them around Bucky’s hips, and he gives in.

“Oh,” Steve gasps. “Yes, Bucky, please,” he whines, unashamed. “I need you.”

“You know I don’t wanna hurt you, baby,” Bucky says, though he moves his fingers a little faster now.

Steve rakes his nails down Bucky’s back, hard, making him groan loudly. “Fuck, Steve,” Bucky breathes.

“Just this once?” Steve begs. _I wanna feel you for days. Let me feel all of you because I know I won’t be able to anymore._ These thoughts are the ones that run through Steve’s mind.

And somehow, Bucky looks at him, and understands.

Without pause, Bucky slides a third finger into Steve, who _keens_. “Bucky,” Steve moans. “I’m ready.” 

Once Steve is stretched enough for Bucky, he slips his fingers out of Steve, making him cry out from the empty feeling. Bucky takes his cock in the lubed hand, stroking it carefully, glancing up at Steve with a smirk on his lips. 

The sight makes Steve bite his own, but he sighs in relief when Bucky finally guides his cock to his hole, entering him carefully, punching the air right out of Steve.

“I thought you were gonna tease me all night,” Steve moans, when he can finally breathe again. This part is always the most intense, it’s like he can feel Bucky down to his toes.

Bucky grins. “Maybe next time.” His face falls a bit when he realizes what he’s said, but Bucky shakes it off quickly. “When I get back.” 

“What else are you gonna do to me when you get back?” Steve asks. 

He laughs. “I’ll be beat. Hoping you’ll have dinner ready.”

Steve moans, but punches him in the shoulder despite the onset of pleasure overtaking his body. “I hate you..”

“Course you do baby,” Bucky says lowly.

The sounds of their lovemaking fill the room, and it’s okay, because the neighborhood is awake. They have to be quiet when they have sex at night, as waking the neighbors could be fatal. But now? Steve tips his head back and moans loudly as Bucky fucks him harder.

It surprises him, but Steve’s close to the edge already. He can tell Bucky is as well, he always hides his face when he’s about to come like he’s embarrassed. It’s infuriatingly adorable and endearing, and why Steve has taken to riding Bucky more often, just so he can see Bucky’s blushy face as he comes inside him.

“You close baby?” Bucky asks, right on cue. “Cause I am. You feel so good, Stevie.” He reaches down to pull at Steve’s cock.

“Yes,” Steve gasps. “Oh - oh _fuck_ ,” he swears, blushing. “Sorry, I - “

Bucky smiles brightly above him, ducking down to bite at Steve’s ear. “Don’t apologize. Come for me, baby.”

Steve’s surprised by the request, but he does. Hard. Steve comes all over Bucky’s stomach and his own, almost shivering.

Bucky follows quickly, coming with a hoarse shout, burying his face in Steve’s shoulder. “Steve,” he moans. “Steve.” This time it sounds like a plea.

Steve runs a hand through Bucky’s hair. He’s still shaking from the force of his orgasm, but Steve knows that this time, he’s got to be the strong one. At least for a bit. 

“I know,” Steve says. “I know, Buck.” 

*

Bucky begged him not to, and Steve wishes he could listen. He knows enlisting is futile but he’s got to try one last time before he gives up. 

He meets Dr. Erskine.

*

Steve joins the war and gets a serum to become big and tall and strong. It’s like something out of one of the fantasies he used to have when he was a kid fighting off bullies with a trashcan shield.

Now, he’s got the real thing.

For a while there, Steve was little more than a show pony. Captain America. But now? He’s deserted from the U.S. Army on pure chance that Bucky would still be alive after being captured by HYDRA. Seeing his prone body on the table, strapped down - the full body horror Steve felt was excruciating.

Bucky smiles, and Steve thinks that he can do anything with this man beside him. He always has.

*

Bucky dies. He falls and Steve is too slow, too weak to catch him. He should’ve pulled harder, reached further. He didn't, and now he’s gone.

A part of Steve is too.

*

Steve flips open the compass he always carries. Inside is a picture of Peggy, and he smiles sadly. A part of him loved her, though it was different from the way he loved Bucky. His love for Peggy was bright, new. Steve’s love for Bucky was visceral, all encompassing.

He would've married her, probably, if there was a way out of this situation. Bucky said it was possible to love more than one person. “Especially a dame like Carter,” Bucky had whistled. Steve laughs at the memory, and tears spring to his eyes.

He would’ve married Peggy, but he never would’ve stopped loving Bucky. His love for Bucky is just as much a part of him as his arms or lungs or serum. But this, death, is the only way he can truly be with him.

He closes the compass back. Whoever finds his body, they’d surely tell the public and Captain America would be no more, called a fairy, stripped of his uniform. Steve doesn’t care about any of this. But neither him nor Bucky ever told anyone their secret in life, and Steve intends to keep their secret in death.

With Bucky over his heart, Steve closes his eyes.

*

He opens them, and still, all Steve can see is Bucky.

He’s gone, _he’s gone_ , and this whole living thing? Isn’t the same.

Everything is gray now, and even with the fancy new supplies, the drawings in his sketchbook come out gray and lifeless. Dead.

Sometimes he feels dead too. After a fight, when he comes home to sit in his dull apartment and watch the television vacantly. He plays the music they used to listen to sometimes, you can find anything online 

It makes Steve happy until it makes him sad, and then he turns it off. He doesn't have a partner to dance with anymore.

Sometimes, Steve wishes they would’ve left him in the ice, but he ignores those thoughts. Bucky wouldn’t have liked them.

*

Bucky is back, somehow and for a moment Steve is frozen. Then he’s _alive_.

He felt a glimpse of this when he met Sam Wilson, when Natasha Romanoff dragged him by the front of his shirt into S.H.I.E.L.D. missions. He never cared for the organization in the first place, whether Peggy spearheaded it or not, and now it was dust. And somehow, Bucky was not.

*

Bucky’s shooting him, he’s killing him. 

“Then finish it,” he says, struggling for breath. “‘Cause I’m with you till’ the end of the line.”

I love you, he wants to say, but by then, Steve can already feel his vision going dark, Bucky’s horrified face above him.

Steve closes his eyes. He will not kill the man he loves.

*

He opens them, to find Sam by his side. It’s a miracle he’s alive, Sam says. 

Halfway through Treble Man, Steve starts to cry. Sam doesn’t mind.

*

Sam is easily one of the best men Steve has ever encountered. Bucky would’ve - _will_ love him.

“He kicked me out of the sky,” Sam reminds him petulantly, hiding a smile.

They search for Bucky high and low, but he doesn’t want to be found. It hurts like hell. They’re interrupted by Ultron, the Accords. More than a few explosions.

But suddenly, Steve is standing in Bucky’s one room apartment in Budapest, staring at a picture of himself from the museum. And he doesn’t know what he’s going to say.

Bucky’s behind him, and he’s beautiful. He’s different, from his stance to his demeanor. But still, he’s everything Steve has been missing. He wants to reach out, feel Bucky’s heartbeat against his, the way it should be. He wants to kiss him for hours, until Steve knows for sure that he hasn’t forgotten the shape and taste of his lips.

Steve doesn’t do any of that. He settles for. “You know me.”

*

“Your mom’s name was Sarah,” Bucky says, staring intently up at Steve. “You used to wear newspapers in your shoes,” he chuckles, and Steve’s back in Brooklyn.

*

With a yawn, Steve pulls himself out of bed when his alarm sounds. He’s gotten better at the whole sleeping thing lately. He’d want to say security and happiness are the reasons for it, but Steve knows it can all be attributed to Bucky’s back against the other side of his door some nights.

He supposes that happiness, security, and Bucky have always been the same thing.

This morning, Steve forgoes an immediate shower, even though the dials and switches were always an adventure for him. One of the first times Steve heard Bucky laugh, really laugh was when the Stark showers spit pink strawberry bubbles out on him at the end of his shower.

He’d knocked on Steve’s door, wearing nothing but a towel, a crazy grin on his face. 

“Look at what the shower did,” Bucky had laughed. “Does yours do the same?”

They’d crowded into Steve’s bathroom, fiddling with knobs and levers, giggling like they were kids again. They found the bubbles eventually, after a few mishaps. Steve’s bubbles were more purple than pink, but they watched them fill the shower anyway.

Well, at least Bucky did. Steve watched Bucky. He watched water droplets slide down Bucky’s bare back and wished for the thousandth time, that he could have him.

This waiting game was absolute hell. Steve was back to spilling his feelings in his sketchbook, and his art was brighter again. He immortalized Bucky with bright soap suds in his hair as quickly as he could.

Steve smiles at the memory, before heading down to the kitchen to see about some breakfast. The other Avengers don’t necessarily eat at normal times, but he can usually count on Sam and Clint to be down there. Bucky too occasionally, if he was able to drag himself from out of bed. Apparently playing sentry outside of Steve’s room at night required a bit of sleep once Steve was finally awake.

As he expected, once Steve exited the elevators, Sam and Clint were alone in the kitchen. Clint looks up from his cereal to great Steve, and Sam passes him half an omelette from the skillet. Steve grins.

Clint launches in on of his stories, a normal occurrence at team meals, no matter how small. Steve laughs his head off - his Ma’ always said laughter was the best way to wake a person up in the morning. 

“You seen Buck this morning?” Steve asks Sam eventually, as Clint starts in on the breakfast dishes. 

“Yeah, he’s downstairs boxing. He couldn’t sleep last night and found me ‘drinking tea like a sad old lady’ and dragged me downstairs. I guess his thought was he’d kick my ass until I was dead on my feat,” Sam smiles. “It worked. He’s doing good Steve.” 

It may have started out a little rocky, but Sam and Bucky eventually became the kind of friends they write sitcoms about. They gave each other hell, to the amusement of the other Avengers, but Steve knew that they were able to talk to one another when nightmares got too bad. He’s thankful.

For a second, Steve’s heart almost stops. “He’s boxing?” he asks, breathless. Steve knows Bucky remembered his boxing skills. But if Bucky remembers his boxing days, does that mean he remembers him? Remembers what they meant to each other?

Hurriedly, Steve thanks Sam, before heading toward the elevators. He knows it’s impossible, that there’s no way he can get them anymore, but Steve’s chest feels tight, and suddenly he’s itching for one of those asthma cigarette he knows good and well were no good.

The elevator comes to a stop on the training room floor, and Steve walks straight toward the boxing ring. He stops.

Bucky’s hitting a bag set up in the middle of the ring. It must be reinforced with something, the metal of Bucky’s new arm even stronger than the last, thanks to T’Challa.

His fists land in quick succession on the bag, Bucky ducks and kicks like he has a real opponent. He wipes sweat from his brow, bouncing on the balls of his feet before launching a renewed attack on the punching bag. Watching Bucky box is captivating. Bucky in motion elicits the same feelings in Steve that he felt seventy years ago.

Finally, Bucky gives the bag a break, stepping back to grab a swig of water before turning in Steve’s direction.

“Just gonna stand there, Stevie?” Bucky asks, setting his water back down and leaning up against the side of the ring, waiting.

Never one to back down from a challenge, especially not one posed by Bucky, Steve steps into the ring with him.

“So you remember being the best boxer in Brooklyn?” Steve grins. “I think you had a fanclub.”

“You were president, right?” Bucky quips, and Steve wonders if he remembers. He decides to take a chance, and steps closer to Bucky.

“Are you about to put the moves on me Steve? Cause I’m sensing a common component.” Bucky smirks wickedly, and Steve’s not sure if he wants to punch his face or kiss it.

“You remember?” Steve gasps. “W- why didn’t you say anything?”

Bucky meets his eyes, his smile soft now. “Of course I do. I knew you as Steve before I knew myself. You were a lot smaller though, in most of my memories. And I never said anything because _you_ never said anything. Figured you’d moved on. It’s been seventy years.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Course I was. You always liked me small.” Bucky grabs his hand and pulls him in, until Steve’s more or less boxing Bucky in the corner of the ring.

“I like you big too,” Bucky whispers in his ear.

“This is not the time, Buck,” Steve groans. “We’re having a heartfelt moment.”

Bucky leans further back against the ring, crossing his arms over his chest, giving Steve a bit of room to breathe.

“Maybe it’s been seventy years, Buck.” Steve says softly. “But if you think I spent even one second doing anything other than loving you, you’re insane.”   

“They’re telling me I am,” Bucky jokes, but he wipes at his face roughly. Steve pulls Bucky’s hand away from his face, kissing a stray tear. Bucky’s eyes flutter shut, and only then does Steve press the line of his body back against Bucky.

Bucky opens his eyes, watching the whole while as Steve presses his lips to his, like the sight is one he wishes never to forget.

Their lips touch, and Steve gasps. Maybe nothing’s wrong with his memory, but in that moment, Steve’s hit with many. Coney Island, ice cream from the stand in the park. And Bucky’s right.

It seems right for them to kiss here. A different ring, but the smell’s no different; leather and tape around Bucky’s right fist, which is curled around the back of Steve’s neck. 

Steve brushes a stray hair behind Bucky’s ear. That’s new. Bucky’s been deciding whether or not he’s gonna cut it, and Steve figures that since he’s reinstated as Bucky’s, that maybe he has a say in it. It’s damn sexy.

Bucky tightens his grip on Steve’s waist, and Steve doesn’t have a chance in hell of covering up the sound that escapes his lips.

“You like that?” Bucky asks lowly. His voice sounds wrecked already.

“Yeah,” Steve says honestly. Bucky just stares at him for a few moments, and Steve feels his cheeks heat up. This feeling is familiar.

To his surprise, Bucky wraps him in a bear hug that shocks some of the air out of Steve’s lungs. He hugs Bucky back just as hard, breathing him in. He smells like a mix of clean sweat, that woodsy cologne Sam got him as a joke, the bourbon he stole on the regular from Stark’s liquor cabinet for the “taste”, and strawberry bubbles from the shower.

Steve grins into his shoulder.

*

They spend the rest of the day cuddled together, and Steve’s not sure that even a national emergency would be enough for Bucky to let him out of bed.

Steve keeps kissing Bucky’s face, which makes Bucky laugh. He snaps a picture mid-laugh with his new phone, and immediately saves it as his screensaver.

Bucky looks happy. Steve doesn’t have to find a mirror to know he does too.

They talk in starts and stops. It’s warm it’s comfortable. It feels like home. 

“I had a handler once who told me about what I said in my sleep sometimes, when I wasn’t in cryo.” Bucky says eventually. “She told me I sounded like I was crying a lot, though there were never any tears. She said I screamed for you in my sleep.”

“Oh...oh god, Bucky,” Steve whispers, reaching for him.

Bucky curls into Steve’s arms. “I’m not trying to make you sad, Steve. I just want you to know that I never stopped loving you either.”

Blue eyes blink at him, and Steve stares into them until his own feel watery.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed! I would love to hear some feedback! Go ahead, I have a comment kink.


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